What I Wouldn't Do If I Had You
by ninadobsession
Summary: "'Escort' I spit out, like the idea is completely unbelievable. 'You're bringing a date' Elena glares at me. 'It's prom, Damon.'" Set later in Season 4.


**This sucks. I'm sorry. I re-read Slow Burn Summer, got too caught up in Delena feelz, and wrote this when I should have been asleep. I should have just spent time on YBR instead. Alright bye.**

When did I become so whipped? I mean, seriously, I'm pretty sure I was neutered in my sleep because I am having absolutely no issues playing vampire nanny for the past few months. Right now, Elena's doing homework (don't even get me started on that one) while I just sit next to her on the couch reading. Elena fucking Gilbert and I are alone in her house. She has no guardian, her brother's out, and we are both vampires with raging libidos. Hell, one of us is a _newborn_ vamp with little to no control over said raging libido. Let's not forget that sexual tension and energy typically crackles around us like an eighteen-wheeler full of wool sweaters in a static electricity mill. But nope, this girl made hot chocolate (I haven't had a sip of mine because I'd like to maintain some shred of testosterone running through my body), put on some old jazz album that brings back hazy memories of the twenties, and just plopped down on the couch, throwing her legs across my lap.

Yeah, that last part? Pretty much the only reason I'm still sitting here putting up with this domestic shit. Well, at least that's what I'm telling myself. For some unknown reason (the explanation for a million things about our relationship), this girl can still produce an exorbitant amount of body heat regardless of her status as a member of the living dead. And damnit if just her legs on me aren't causing every nerve in my body to be aroused. I used to think my cock was the only thing that could be affected by a great pair of legs, but Elena has knocked that theory out of the park. So, instead of throwing her against the wall or, hell, even just going to the Grill to get a stiff drink, I instead sit here, read the same five lines in the first book I saw on the shelf, and try not to combust from how badly I want this woman.

And this whole ridiculous scenario gets worse. _She's single._ My motherfucking baby brother dumped her ass almost two months ago and she didn't even seem that heartbroken about it. Little Miss "I-never-unfell-for-him," heightened emotions galore, should have been _devastated_, thrown on suicide watch. Teenage girls who dated guys for two weeks have shown more emotion than she did. Instead, Elena goes out, almost drains someone, stops _herself_, and then wakes up the next morning ready to push forward.

Now that doesn't mean she runs straight into my arms. No, the story doesn't work that way. Instead, I've become the perpetual "buddy." Called whenever she just wants to _hang_. The most action I've gotten is the occasional eye-fucking she so graciously provides and whatever physical contact she feels comfortable with (hence the legs). And like the completely pussy I am, I pick up every phone call with a "Yes m'am. May I have some more?" because I'm completely content playing lapdog.

If you want to stake me, I'll carve it myself.

"Shit." Oh good, cussing. Another completely average thing that this girl does that sends all my blood south. Suddenly the comforting heat her legs provided is gone as she shoots up, shoving her binders and various other nonsensical papers into a large brown bag, simultaneously typing something out on her phone.

"What is it?" Oh my god, is that actually my voice?! I sound like an over-concerned dad. That wooden chair leg is looking more appealing by the second.

"I completely blanked," she replies, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "Vampire Barbie wanted me to be at the dress shop five minutes ago."

Two things in her last sentence piqued my interest. For one thing, she referred to the ever-spunky blonde by my nickname for her, proving that we've spent enough time together for my vocab to rub off on her. And secondly…

"What set of cousins is having the shot gun wedding this weekend?" I smirk.

Elena rolls her eyes, throwing the purse over her shoulder and grabbing the mugs to take them into the kitchen. "It's not for a wedding. It's for prom."

Hmm. That's odd. Apparently vampires don't have good hearing. I shoot up from the couch as well, meeting her in the kitchen as she dumps my full mug down the sink drain and flips on the faucet, rinsing the dark liquid out of the ceramic. "I'm sorry. I though you said you were going to prom."

Elena swivels around quickly, looking even more frustrated with her lateness as she chucks the mugs in the dishwasher. "I am going to prom. I'm a senior. It's kind of a thing."

"A thing for humans!" I balk.

"As long as Mystic Falls High is throwing a prom, I'm going to a prom." Elena pointedly looks at the time on her phone, letting out a sigh. "Remember the whole 'maintain some semblance of normalcy' thing?"

Oh, I remember it. I also remember how ridiculous it is, but alas, my completely whipped nature requires me to never call her out on it. "Elena," I groan, leaning my elbows on the counter and rubbing my hands over my face. "You can't spring things on me like this. Especially since you know I hate that type of teenage dream shit."

"Well, yeah," Elena replies. "But you're not even going so you can put on your big girl panties and deal with it."

…

I wonder if it's possible to dig a hole into the hardwood floors if I use my vamp speed to kick my feet against it enough times. Damon Salvatore doesn't do embarrassed but right now, I'm ready to pray to a God I don't believe in to take back what I just said. Because I can already sense the wheels in her head turning as she realizes what I'd so carelessly assumed.

"Damon," Elena murmurs. "Did you think you were going to be my escort?"

No. No, you do not fucking get to ask me that. How the hell can you answer a question like that without coming off as a bumbling twelve year old girl?! If I say, "Oh, yes, please Elena. I thought we were going together because I'm madly in love with you and you're the closest thing you have to a boyfriend right now and who else in this damn town would take you but me." I might as well tie a leash to my balls that she can yank around whenever she wants to. (That last part was stupid to say because there were pubescent guys with Elena Gilbert boners all over this damn town, but I have to ignore that.) But I can't deny it either because then I sound like a dick. So I go with my best option: shifting the focus from myself.

"Escort?!" I spit out, like the idea is completely unbelievable. "You're bringing a date?!"

Elena is now staring at me like I have a second head growing out of my ear and rightfully so. "It's _prom_, Damon," she responds patronizingly.

"So?! Don't girls go in big groups together now?"

Elena crosses her arms and scoffs. "Do you really think Caroline would let us go to prom without dates?"

She has me there, but I'm on a good path of getting the attention off my humiliating mishap so I continue. "So what? Is my baby bro coming out of hiding and renting a limo?" Yeah, I go there.

Elena actually looks pretty offended by the accusation. "No," she replies bitterly, some of her hair falling in her face. "Of course not."

"Then who the hell is taking you?" I ask. A plan is quickly forming in my head to pay a visit to the guy's house and make quick work of the plus one.

"Matt," she replies, as though it's the most obvious answer in the world.

I'm officially at the stage of losing my shit. "Matt Donovan?! Are you kidding me?!" I'm also at the stage of flinging my arms in the air like a guy who just found out he is _not_ the father.

"Yes, Matt! Who else?" She replies, her arms matching my own in an exasperated movement.

"Um, me!"

Shit, fuck, fuckety shit. _Damon Salvatore, you had an out. You'd completely gotten her focus off your earlier word vomit but you had to go and fuck it all up again… How fast can you get to that oak chair in the living room?_

Elena cocks her head, a slightly amused expression coming across her face. "Damon Salvatore… going to a prom?"

Thank God for that whole being dead thing because I'm fairly sure my skin would be the same color as a ketchup bottle if my heart was still beating. "Stranger things have happened," I reply indignantly.

"Damon, you haven't been a high school student in over a century and a half. Hell, you didn't even die a high school student. They would not let you into a prom unless you were a chaperone."

"If the past year has proved _anything_, it's how terrible the security is at your school." I snap back.

Elena looks like she just walked into the Twilight Zone. "Damon, you just told me that you, and I quote, 'hate that type of teenage dream shit,' a fact you've made very clear since I've known you. Why would you want to go to prom?"

"Woah, let's roll that train back a bit. I do not _want_ to go to prom."

"Then why are you making such a big deal out of this?! Matt and I are just going as friends. You should be thrilled. I'm not making you get a tux or a corsage or put up with some cheesy slow dancing. Plus, do you really want to be in the same vicinity as Caroline when she wins homecoming queen?" Elena puts on a small smile, obviously trying to cheer me up.

She lets out a sigh as she sees my expression isn't going to change any time soon. "Look, I have to go. I can already sense the reaming I'm about to get. We can talk about this later if you want."

Let me remind you that I'm a complete masochist. I mean you're dealing with the same guy who flat out asked this girl seconds before he died which brother she would ultimately choose. So when I stop her before she can open the door to let my insecurity flag fly, you shouldn't be too shocked.

"You didn't even consider asking me, did you?"

Her hand stops on the doorknob and even though her back is turned to me, I can perfectly see her face in my mind. Bottom lip caught between her teeth, hair falling in her face just so, that same mix of apprehension and guilt crossing her expression that I've seen a million times…

Bingo. She turns around and I've nailed it. It's amazing how human she can still seem.

"No," she replies softly. "I guess I didn't."

* * *

It's three hours before prom and I've been sitting in my bathrobe for the past hour. Why, you might ask? Is there ever another reason for my complete lack of functioning other than Damon? And regardless of the fact that I'm rapidly shortening my "getting ready time," I can't stop obsessing over one single thought.

Did he actually _want_ to take me to prom?

The thought sounds ridiculous, I know. I mean it's Damon Salvatore. Badass extraordinaire with an affinity for murder and seducing women with the bat of an eyelash. Damon doesn't _do_ prom. So why could I not stop considering the opposite?

He seemed completely offended by the notion of my not inviting him, as if by not choosing him for this, I'd rejected him. Which wasn't the case at all, of course. I just didn't think he wanted to go. I mean… that's why I didn't ask him, right?

That was the other thing I couldn't get out of my head. His final question before I'd walked out the door. Disregarding the way the vulnerability in his voice made my lifeless heart painfully clench, had I ever even _considered_ asking him? To be quite honest, I'd considered Damon for a lot of things, many of which involved no clothing, but had I even, for a second, imagined him as my prom date?

I sure as hell had once he'd brought it up. Caroline looked like she wanted to skin me alive when I'd picked out a dress that was the exact same color as my first Miss Mystic Falls one. Apparently "everyone would deem me an outfit repeater" and she "couldn't be seen with a fashion offender." But the only possible way my brain could fathom Damon wearing a boutonniere and posing for pictures with his hands on my hips was remembering back on the pageant junior year. And that, in turn, caused me to pull out my card and charge it for a deep blue gown.

I groan as the offensive vibrating from my phone indicates the blonde was calling for the seventeenth time that hour. I was supposed to have been doing all my primping there, but I'd been too stuck in obsessive thought land to bother going. Clearly, I had offended her by stating I was just going to get ready at home. I stare at my meticulous makeup and curled hair I'd pinned into a messy bun in the mirror. A few tendrils had fallen out, but it actually looks better that way.

I'm just about to slide out of the white silk robe and pull on the garment when there's a knock on the doorframe.

"Damon." Damn, I really had been in my head. Even vampire senses hadn't picked up on his presence thanks to my pensive state.

"Really shouldn't leave your door open when you're going to be strip," he smirks. "You don't know who could just pop in."

"Jeremy's at Tyler's getting ready," I reply simply, but don't fail to notice the small flash of pain cross his eyes. _Really_? Now he's upset that my brother and Tyler are going? How many times has he said how much he can't stand them?

And people ask me how a decision between the two brothers could be so confusing…

"I got you a present," he replies, the smirk now back on his face. He lifts a small box up in the air, shaking it lightly.

My eyebrow shoots up, arms crossing their way over their chest. "Why?" I ask suspiciously.

Damon groans. "No, Elena, it was my pleasure. You're welcome."

I sigh, a small smile settling on my lips. "Sorry. _Thank you,_ Damon."

He saunters towards me, reminding me of how strange it is that my heart can no longer beat a thousand miles a minute as it did when he used to stand near me. I also notice that he seems nervous to give whatever it is to me. "I've been a dick lately about the whole 'being normal' thing and I apologize. It's understandable… Believe me." I bite my lip. _He could have felt normal if you'd asked him to prom, you heartless bitch._

"So I thought I could contribute to the experience. Now obviously, I'm not buying that idiot a room key…" I laugh, causing a bit more comfort to settle in Damon's features. "So I got you this." He awkwardly shoves it at me, as though he can't wait to get it out of his hands.

I lift the lid on the box and reveal a gorgeous gardenia wrist corsage. It's beautiful in its simplicity, nowhere near the gaudy ones all the other overly tan teenage girls will be sporting. It's so Damon (and no, I have no clue how a flower can resemble a hundred and sixty something year old vampire) that it causes my mouth to go dry.

"Thank you, Damon. It's perfect but-"

He cuts me off. "But Matt's gonna get you one. Yeah, I know. I just thought you could see what a real corsage looks like, not some shit from the drugstore."

I smile, almost unable to stop staring at it. The only thing keeping me from doing so is the fact that Damon's now only standing about five inches from me and just his mere presence feels like heaven and sex combined. I lift my gaze to his own and feel that same rush of pure, unadulterated lust that rushes through my veins at least once every time I see him. It's why I always cut our hang out sessions short. Even when he was sitting on the couch with me a week ago, I'd spent half an hour on the _same_ Calc problem. My brain wouldn't stop focusing on how I wish my ass was where my calves were so I could grind into him a thousand times over. Damn vampire libido.

"And that would be Caroline." My eyes immediately shoot up to his own, given that they were in the middle of a staring contest with his lips only seconds before. Obviously my face shows my confusion so he clarifies. "You can hear her clear as day stomping her way up the stairs."

Yep, it's official. Damon Salvatore can now completely undermine any vampire powers I might have because the second I get my attention _off_ shoving my tongue down his throat, I realize the whirlwind of a blonde is already in the room, looking ready to kill.

"Elena Gilbert, I am this close to kicking you off prom court," she snaps.

"Oh god, no. Please don't," I reply in a monotone voice. I hear Damon chuckle next to me as the blonde stops her frantic movements to gather all the things I need for the dance.

"You and Damon really need to stop hanging out. You're like creepy sarcastic twins at this point. Now, if you aren't in the car in five seconds I will rip your dress in half." Okay, that one actually concerns me. I watch as Caroline speeds out of my eyesight in less than a second.

"I guess I should get into some shorts or something," I mumble, the leftover sexual tension still stagnant in the room.

"Uh, yeah," Damon replied, walking backwards towards the door. "Have a good time and um… don't get lucky." He winks, but shoots me a sad smile. He's out of the room faster than Caroline was. I recognize that smile. It was the same one he gave me right before he compelled me to forget his first "I love you."

_Shit shit fuckety shit. I'm the worst person ever._

I shrug on the first pair of shorts I can find, just desperate to become distracted by the tornado of crazy that was my senior prom so I could let go of the aching guilt that's robbing me of unneeded breath.

Once I'm in the passenger seat of Caroline's car, she chucks a blood bag at me and begins speeding down my street. "I'm surprised you didn't just yank me out by the arm, Care," I note, smirking.

"Oh, god, please. I was practically dry heaving on the smell of your arousal. I was just going to let you all finish whatever you were planning on doing up there."

* * *

All my senses are on high alert. I physically cannot make any cogent thought beyond "Elena. Emergency. High school."

I spin the car into a parking spot and do a quick inventory of the outside of the school. All seems fairly inconspicuous. You can hear the insipid music even through the cement walls and there's a few drunken teenagers giggling from behind cars, but nothing out of the ordinary. But if I know anything, I've learned to expect the unexpected.

I book it towards the nearest entrance and am about two steps into the main hall when a supernaturally strong arm yanks me into a classroom and locks the door behind me. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready for the inevitable fight, but instead my nose is filled with the scent of-

"Elena?" I ask, bewildered. The star of one too many a dream is simply leaned against a desk, smirking at me as if there isn't a care in the world.

"Knew that'd get ya here. Did I sound scared enough on the phone?"

Yep, I'm gonna kill her. Screw hating myself forever and the fact that she looks ridiculously sexy with that shit-eating grin on her face. I'll kill anyone who gets me that close to pissing my pants.

"You're shitting me right?" That knocks that smirk off her face real quick. Good. I'm glad she realizes she shouldn't joke about that kind of fuckery.

"God damnit Damon, I'm trying here!" She exasperatedly runs her hands through her hair and then, remembering that it's styled, quickly yanks them out. "Shit," she cries.

Yeah, I'm lost here. I can typically somewhat keep up with what's going on around me, but Elena Gilbert is a mystery in a riddle wrapped up with an enigma so I'm not even going to bother. And now that I'm not _completely_ convinced I'm going to find her limbs strewn across the gym, I'm able to fully look at her. And now I want to rip someone else's limbs off.

The blue gown she's wearing has a corset top that pushes up her cleavage to a place my brain can't fully comprehend but my dick sure as fuck can. The silky fabric skims down her skin almost identically to how her dress at the Miss Mystic Falls pageant had done, a dress I had firmly committed to my fantasy bank. She's now propped herself on the desk, angrily yanking the bobby pins out of her hair as curl after perfect curl settled on her shoulders. If I had seen her before she'd left, I would have never let her leave the house.

"What's going on, Elena?" I ask, my mind briefly wandering away from imagining that dress on the floor.

Elena sighs, pulling out another bobby pin and chucking it on the floor. "I was trying to make up for a really shitty decision, but obviously, I can't do _anything_ right these days."

"I still feel like I'm watching an episode of Lost here," I reply.

"Look around, Damon!" Elena yelps, sweeping her arm around the room. "You're here, at prom, just like you wanted."

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. I feel like a broken record. "I don't _want_ to be at prom."

"Yes, you do and I want you here, too."

Okay, take out the "here" and that is a goddamn near perfect sentence. But nonetheless, I love hearing it come out of her mouth. "But you didn't ask me." I state the obvious, making sure she realizes how twisted this whole situation is.

"I know!" Elena cries. "And I have no clue why! I mean, I guess I was just so caught up in having the human prom experience that I couldn't imagine going to prom with my ex-boyfriend's vampire brother. Which is stupid because I mean half of my prom group are supernatural beings, but… Damon, come on. Please picture us doing the prom pose and try not to laugh."

Nope, it's impossible. Because seriously, imagining me in a tux with a tacky flower on my chest while wrapping my arms around her stomach and throwing on a big cheesy grin is probably the most ridiculous image I can conjure up. I start to laugh which in turn makes Elena start to laugh until we're both caught in hysterics. I slide over to sit next to her on the desk and sigh as I pull out a pin from her hair that she'd missed.

Elena starts again once we'd calmed. "Honestly, Damon. I didn't think you'd want to go that badly," Elena murmurs. "I mean, why did you want to come?"

I don't hesitate for a second. "Because it would make you happy." Elena bites her lip, looking down at her feet. I'm glad she's not looking at me because what I'm about to say next isn't exactly easy for me to say with full eye contact. "Besides, I'm the poor sap who fell in love with a high schooler."

Elena is silent for a moment, but then finally hops off the desk, offering her hand to me. "Come on," she gestures when I don't immediately grab for it.

"Ready to go home already?" I ask.

She shakes her head, a smile on her face. "Nope. _You_ are my new date for prom."

_Just go with it, Damon. Just shut the fuck up, take the beautiful girl's hand and go slow dance with her. We can psychoanalyze why the hell you're so desperate to surround yourself with pimply, terrible-smelling teenagers later._ "What about Matt?" _All I see are pencils. Can I kill myself with a pencil?_

But Elena shakes her head back and forth, determination settling in her features. "For once, I'm going to do what I want and not worry about someone else." She pauses and then adds. "Besides, he's the quarterback. I think he'll do just fine by himself."

Finally, I listen to the smart part of my head and grab her hand. But before she can pull me out, I put all my dead weight into it, halting her from moving anywhere. I stand. "But first, I take back my earlier statement."

Elena crinkles her eyebrows adorably (yeah, that's fucking right. I said adorably.) "What statement?"

"I so want you to get lucky tonight." With that, I crash my lips into hers, pulling her by the small of her back as close as I possibly can. And thank God we're over that whole "oh, I don't know if I should" phase because this girl knows what she's doing when she's fully committed. Throwing caution to the wind, she twists her fingers in my hair and doesn't even hesitate to tangle her tongue with mine.

_Yeah, this dirty linoleum floor looks suitable._

Unfortunately, her mind's working a lot clearer than mine because before my hands can slide up any farther, she steps back. And I should receive a damn Nobel Prize for the amount of control I'm exhibiting right now because half-satisfied Elena has got to be one of the hottest things on the planet.

She shakes her head back and forth, a grin spreading on her face. "Nope, you're not backing out of this one, Mr. Salvatore. Not after all the grief you caused me." She yanks my hand, pulling me down the hall towards the gym. I groan as I hear what's pulsing through the speakers.

"_Forever Young_? Your school can officially not be any more cliché."

Elena laughs, throwing her head back. "Actually, if you think about it, it's kind of perfect for us."

Oh, fuck. Did I just feel something akin to butterflies in my stomach because she said the word "us?"

Yeah, there's no hope left for me.


End file.
